Spamarama
07 Jul 2010 Leave a Comment
in Noxious Evils, Writers Write Tags: Trusting Your Instincts
WordPress does a good job keeping out the unwanted. I’m able to see the site you come from. Read comments in advance, and gag over some of the Google searches, but WP hasn’t figured out the Referrers problem. Here is a sampling of click overs from the last month.
- click to read
With a few exceptions, it’s an eclectic assortment of places I don’t want to go produced by automated drones sent to infiltrate my world. Every morning, I check the stats page, and there’s a new one. Part of me wants to click and peak, but as a grown-up, I know that some places are best left alone.
Heavy Cleaning
27 Apr 2010 Leave a Comment
in Housekeeping, Noxious Evils, Writers Write, cottage garden Tags: backyard pond, cottage garden, creativity, garden, loss, water garden, writers, writing
The people down the street owned one of those makeover-for-your-garage franchises. They ran the business out of their house. Other than the trucks, things were fine. At least, until they got ready to move.
That’s when the garage sales started. For three consecutive weeks, junk spilled out of the house and onto the lawn. It was obvious. They organized garages by taking the clutter home with them. At the end of the third week, a driver dodging a bookshelf, ran into a tree, cracking the largest limb into the street. Another neighbor called code compliance.
The garage experts are gone now, leaving a pile of unsellables by the curb. I made this out of some of their garbage.
Tree Rant or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
22 Mar 2010 Leave a Comment
in Noxious Evils, Writers Write Tags: Trusting Your Instincts, writers, writing
It’s big trash week. Twice a year the city has curbside brush pickup. Tree limbs, assorted non-toxic junk, scrap metal. It’s time to place it out by the curb so sanitation engineers can scoop it up and haul it off. Good. Right?
It is also the week where men with chainsaws in old Ford F-150s come out. They float the cul-de-sacs in my neighborhood, stalking trees to massacre. Let me explain. Twice a day for the past five days I’ve had this conversation:
Strange man rings my doorbell and bangs on my door.
Dog barks like she’s a lean, hungry doberman instead of a sleepy, chubby schnauzer.
I breathe deeply. Count to ten. Open the door.
Strange man extends his hand, “Hello Ma’am.”
“I don’t want my trees trimmed.”
Strange man’s hand is still extended. “How are you doing today, Ma’am?”
Dog growls, mouth foaming.
I don’t shake. ”I don’t want my trees trimmed.”
Strange man remains frozen, hand extended.
I shut the door.
Strange man treks back to his F-150. Drives to annoy the next unsuspecting live oak owner.
If I sound cold and unfriendly, it’s by design. Any encouragement means the heavy sell begins. I do not owe these gypsy tree trimmers an explanation. My trees are beautiful. They don’t need trimming. If they did, I wouldn’t hire a hack with a Black and Decker he bought off eBay. The trees are huge. He’d need a harness and a cherry picker to tackle the job.
Just because I have trees doesn’t mean I have to be nice.
Forty Percent
16 Feb 2010 Leave a Comment
in Housekeeping, Joined at the Heart, Noxious Evils, Writers Write Tags: family, writers, writing
I’ve been stuck. Call it blocked or whatever, I’ve been in what I’ve decided is 40% mode. I’m not quite a disaster, but not nearly pleased with myself. I hate to whine, but circumstance started it. The dishwasher crashed, then the television, then the master bath toliet–you get the drift. The money pit we’re living in is collapsing around us. As if that isn’t enough, Coco needs eye-surgery, and we’re going to do battle with our health insurance company over an out-of-network surgeon. Stress.
I quit doing anything, but the minimum. I’ve been writing. Not as much as I want to be writing, but I’ve been writing. I’ve done the laundry, and Bacon has become the de facto dishwasher, bribing the girls with new DVDs and promises of sugarplums. I’ve cooked and done the necessary mom stuff, but whatever is too difficult–okay–slightly difficult–has been on hold while I melt into obstinate rebellion.
Yesterday, I said, “Enough.” I cleared out the stack of freebee magazines, stockpiled for character collages. I rearranged furniture and cleaned my office. I came up with a new work schedule, planned the menu, and shopped for groceries. I got out the pedometer and walked 12,000 steps. Oh, and I cleaned out the flower beds. All in a day’s work.
Today, I gasped, “Not again?” Yes, again. It’s always harder to keep it up the second day. So, I’ve vowed to try for 50% today–baby steps–working my way to 100.
Irreparably Broken
29 Jan 2010 Leave a Comment
in Housekeeping, Noxious Evils, Writers Write Tags: asking for help, family, writers, writing
A week ago, I got a call from Bacon:
“You need to come home.”
“Why? I’m at Target.”
“Did you hear that?”
“No.”
“You can’t hear that?”
“Bacon, I can’t hear anything over the phone. What is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s a big popping sound, and I can’t figure out where it’s coming from.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Come home.”
Before I got there, he had found the source. The television sat on the floor in middle of living room.
“Listen.” He plugged the device into an electrical outlet.
When I was in college theatre, we simulated gunshots by holding a board vertically, one hand on the up end and one foot on the down end. When it was time, we let go and stepped down at the same time. The board made a sound bigger than a firecracker, but less than a cannon. That was the noise erupting from our television.
Bacon unplugged the I.E.D. and carried it out to the garage.
crisp |krisp| adjective
